a world of pure imagination
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: I've been writing a lot of AUs, mostly prompts. Previously they were only listed on Tumblr, but I'm putting them here, finally. The ratings will vary and be listed on each story. They will primarily be Sherlolly but there will be at least one Warstan (perhaps more in the future) Please read and review. Thanks Lil
1. The First Page

likingittoomuch _on_ tumblr _asked: Sherlolly. 33. For the theme n short fic ask - celebrity/fan_ au _-_

 _This story is_ unbeta'd _. I apologize in advance. Remember, it's an AU! This one is rated **K+**_

 _I own nothing - Enjoy! ~Lil~_

* * *

 **\- The First Page -**

John Watson was pissed. There were about a thousand places he'd rather be at the moment. (Like on a date with the lovely Miss Morstan, which he had to cancel when Sherlock had stormed into the clinic, demanding his presence just as he was getting ready to leave!) Riding in the back of a cab on the way to some book signing with his broody best friend was nowhere on that list.

"Are you going to explain this?" he asked.

When Sherlock had said 'book signing' John had waited impatiently for the upshot. Where was the murder? Where was the puzzle?

"No," the detective answered.

The doctor clenched his fist and cracked his neck. _He's your friend. You will **not** strangle him in the backseat of a cab_. John took in the other man's appearance for a moment. That's when he noticed the difference. Sherlock _The Body's Just a Transport_ Holmes always wore the most expensive clothes and took far too much care with his hair to _really_ believe in that 'beauty is just a construct' nonsense. But today… _today_ the man was polished within an inch of his life! Also, he was undoubtedly nervous. John couldn't remember ever seeing the man so unsettled.

"Sherlock? Are you..?"

The detective's head whipped toward him. " _What_?" he asked with thinly veiled aggression.

 _There is something going on here_. Though Sherlock often pointed out that his friend didn't see 'certain things' - not observing, he called it - John _had_ learned a lot about the man sitting next to him in their two years of friendship. That's when it hit him; he had to force himself not to smirk.

"Does this have something to do with that book? The pathology book?" John asked, almost certain that he had it figured out.

Baker Street was never quite 'clean' (even though John bitched at his friend like an old fishwife) but it was somewhat better than when he had first moved in and the man-child _did_ make some effort to put away his toys. In the last month, however, John had often noticed a book sitting next to Sherlock's chair. Then he noticed it in the kitchen late one night and on the settee the next afternoon. He even found it in the bathroom one day. At one point he had wondered if the detective didn't own several copies of the damn thing.

"This isn't a case at all. You just want to meet the author of that book."

The detective smirked, though it lacked his usual confidence. "It seems I'm finally rubbing off on you, John. Keep paying attention and soon you'll know the difference between a suspect and a witness."

"At least I know who the prime minister is," he mumbled under his breath.

Twenty-five minutes later they were walking into a small bookstore in Soho.

"Not much of a turnout," John commented. There were no lines and the store wasn't much bigger than the sandwich shop below their flat.

"How many _people_ do you suppose are interested in forensic pathology?" He said the word 'people' like it was tantamount to a single cell organism. And one that he didn't particularly like.

"Still…" John started as they made their way to the back of the shop. That's when he saw her. A tiny smiling woman sitting next to a mountain of books talking to a spotty faced teenaged girl in large, ill-fitting glasses.

"… if you're really interested, leave me your email and I'll send you some information," the woman said.

The girl gasped. "You'd do that?"

"Of course! I wish I had someone to point me in the right direction when I was younger. I'd love to help in any way I can," the woman returned, smiling brightly.

"I… I…" the teen stammered. "I don't know what to say. I mean… you're my favourite pathologist of all time!"

 _Favourite pathologist? Do people_ have favourite _pathologists?_ For a moment John thought the girl was going to cry, but she managed to write down her email and shake hands with the author before hurrying off to join a group of girls standing to the side. They all squealed as they left. _Weird_.

He was so distracted by the spectacle that he almost missed Sherlock's approach.

"Hello, Dr. Hooper," the detective said as he handed her his worn copy of the book.

 _I didn't even notice that! Him and his damn pockets!_ John _did_ notice, however, that his friend's voice was even deeper than usual.

"Hi!" the woman said as she took the book, smiling and blushing up at his friend.

John had seen this before… many, _many_ times. That man's looks were _such_ a waste! _The woman I could have pulled with those damn curls!_ He could make a witness, of the right sexual persuasion, sing like a canary with the slightest hint of fake flirtation.

"It seems I got in right under the wire," Sherlock said.

"Yes. You might just be my last victim," she replied with a giggle.

When he smiled John realised that something was off. That wasn't Sherlock's false 'get what he needs from a woman smile'. The man looked genuinely happy. _What the hell?_

"You're much better at forensic analysis than comedy, Miss Hooper," he said with none of the bite of his usual commentary.

Her face started to fall, but Sherlock quickly followed up with, "That wasn't an insult. This book is brilliant, doctor. But you know that, don't you? How many weeks has it been a bestseller?"

"A few." She bit her lip and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Um, whom do I make this out to?"

 _Ah,_ John thought, _who will Sherlock be today?_ Nigel Britwistle? Ridgewell Luckinbill, perhaps? Felix Pickles was one of his personal favourits.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said, causing John to do a double take.

"That's an unusual name," Dr. Hooper said as she began to write. "Old English?"

"It is," Sherlock answered, practically beaming.

When she finished, she handed him the book and stood up. "Well, I'm finished for today," she said as she started to box up the books from the table.

"Did you have a good turnout?" Sherlock asked and then he did the strangest thing of yet… he started to help her!

"I did, actually. About five hundred, since lunch. Yesterday's turnout was better."

"Yes, I had wanted to make it to your signing at Waterstone's. Unfortunately, I had a case," Sherlock said as he added another book to the box.

 _Waterstone's?_ That store was huge! John was more than a bit shocked. It seemed that this Dr. Hooper was the J.K. Rowling of forensic pathology!

"A… case?" she asked. "What sort of case?"

"I'm a detective," his friend responded far less arrogantly than usual.

"You're a..?"

"I should clarify, I don't work for the Yard. I'm a _consulting_ detective. The only one in the world, actually."

 _There's the arrogance_.

"Really?"

"Yes. I invented the job," he explained as he finished up with the books. "I'd love to tell you more if you're not busy."

"Ahh…" She looked at John (possibly for the first time) and then back to Sherlock, seemingly a bit apprehensive.

"Coffee, I thought, if you like," Sherlock said in a rush. "There's a decent shop just around the corner."

She hesitated for a moment longer before saying, "Just let me speak to the manager to let him know that I'm all finished." She started to walk away but paused and gave them both a pointed look. "And _where_ we're going, of course."

Once she was out of hearing distance, John turned to his friend. "All right. I'm flummoxed. What the hell's going on?"

Sherlock was watching her as she spoke to the store manager. "I believe that I have a date, John. Do keep up."

"A _date_? You don't _date_! What do you need her for? A case?" he asked, then thought for a moment. "Oh! You found a mistake in her book and want to reopen one of her old cases."

"That book is flawless, John. As is her work. It's not a case."

"Are you trying to recruit her to work at St. Barts?" Nearly everyone at the hospital basically hated the man! "I doubt she'll give up a lucrative book deal to be your personal whipping boy, no matter how many time you use that voice on her. She seems too smart for that."

Turning to him with a glare, Sherlock said, "Of course she's smart, John! She's brilliant! And I don't need another whipping boy, I've got you for that. No, I need her for something else entirely." His tone softened at the end and his face… well, _that_ was a look John had quite literally never seen before.

"And what is that, exactly?"

Sherlock smiled brightly then turned his attention back to the woman across the store. "Pay close attention, my friend, because I believe you've just met the future Dr. Holmes."

After several seconds of stunned silence, John finally found his voice. "Are you screwing with me?"

"Or perhaps I'll take her name, who knows?"

"You're joking!"

"There's nothing wrong with taking the woman's name. Don't be so provincial."

"I'm not talking about that, you tit!" John hissed. "Are you winding me up, because…"

"No, John," Sherlock interrupted. "Not about this. Not about _her_." He picked up his signed copy of the book and looked at the inscription with a grin before turning back to his friend. "Come with us and have one cup of coffee, then make some excuse and bugger off. Got it?"

He nodded mutely still too stunned to respond. Sherlock didn't _do_ relationships and had never mentioned marriage in the entire time John had know him, at least not reverently. Not only that but he had just met this woman. Even having read her book, how could he possibly be contemplating spending the rest of his life with her? It went against everything he thought he knew about the man. Then there was the woman herself. What if she was married? Or gay? What if she had a deep and burning hatred for tall, curly-haired, cocky bastards who thought they knew everything?

Just then Dr. Hooper walked back up. "Okay, Thomas knows I'm going with you so if my body turns up in the Thames, he'll know who to blame." She looked at John and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

Sherlock beat him to the introduction. "This is my best friend, Dr. John Watson."

John paused before offering the woman his hand. Sherlock had never introduced John as his _best_ friend before. Associate, blogger, assistant and even friend on the _very_ rare occasion, but never 'best friend'. Finally extending his hand he said, "Nice to meet you, doctor. Sherlock is a big fan of yours." He was proud of managing that much in his shocked state.

She blushed as released him to pick up her coat and bag. "Nice to meet you too."

Once she was ready, the three of them proceeded out of the store and onto the pavement. John hung back, letting the pair walk in front of him so that he could observe them. A tiny part of him wanted to see the detective crash and burn, knowing for a fact that Sherlock knew nothing about women, at least nothing about how to date them.

"So, did you have questions about the book?" she asked.

"Not so much, no."

She didn't respond, just looked up at the detective curiously.

"I'd actually like to know more about you, if I'm honest."

"There's not much to tell, Mr. Holmes."

"I beg to differ. And please, call me Sherlock."

"Oh, well, then you should call me Molly, I suppose," she replied with an awkward laugh. "What would you like to know?"

John wondered as well. Sherlock usually knew whatever he deemed important about a person at first glance.

"Everything, I should think. But let's start with how you got that scar on your left index finger. It's not a scalpel cut, far too ragged." He stopped walking and took her hand in his to study closer. "Too old as well. You were eleven? Perhaps twelve."

"Yes," the woman answered breathlessly.

Sherlock gently ran two fingers across the old scar then looked up. "A soup can," he said with a knowing smirk on his lips.

Dr. Hooper had never taken her eyes off of his face the entire time. "How did..?"

"It's my job to know, Molly. And I'll tell you all about it." He started walking but didn't release her hand.

"You will?" she asked, seemingly unconcerned that she was now holding hands with the man that she'd just met.

"Indeed. But I believe that we have plenty of time for that."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"Come now, you're the famous writer, Molly. Can't you see that this is just the first page of the book?"

John never knew why Sherlock had brought him that day and he certainly didn't know why he'd been allowed to witness such an overtly romantic display, but he was grateful nevertheless.

Besides, it made his best man's speech a breeze to write.

* * *

 _Okay, that's one. More AUs on the way. Please drop me a line and let me know if you liked it! Thanks for reading! ~Lil~_


	2. Like the Very First Time

violetjersy _asked:#31. Prostitute/Client AU for my beloved Sherlolly... because we seriously don't have too many of these... ❤_

 _Okay, here's what… This story was about 1900 words and all "the morning after" with no flashbacks or, really, any Sherlock to speak of. Then I sent it to Miz. She, being the amazing beta that she is, encouraged me to go further and add flashbacks. She right, of course, and I went to work. I also changed the ending quite a bit after adding the 4000+ words to make everything work. In other words, thank you_ Mizjoely _for being honest and pushing me when I_ needed pushed _!_

 _As per usual, the chunks of italicised words are flashbacks. Very sexy flashbacks ; )_

 _This is a pretty strong **M** , as you might imagine. _

_I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **-Like the** _ **Very**_ **First Time -**

Molly smiled as she paid for her green tea, though if she were honest, she wasn't in a very good mood. Okay, she _was_ still feeling pretty satisfied from the amazing sex the night before (and very early that morning), but the scene afterward had left her conflicted. _Stop thinking about it, Hooper,_ she told herself as she walked to the Tube. Once seated, she closed her eyes and tried to relax as the train took her towards Belgravia.

Five minutes later she opened her eyes. " _Bugger_!" It was pointless. She couldn't stop thinking about the curly-haired man or the evening they had shared. Even more difficult to ignore was their early morning encounter when he had tried to get her to stay. _No! I will not think about it,_ she argued with herself as she took a drink of her tea and desperately tried to focus on something else. Unfortunately, the memory she found wasn't all that helpful...

" _...didn't know it would be like this," he said as he paced, still fully nude, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. "This… this changes everything!"_

 _Molly immediately started gathering her clothes. "Yes, sex can be… enlightening," she said as she pulled on her knickers."_

 _He rushed towards her, gripping her by her shoulders. "NO! You don't understand, Molly. I get it now! I get that… connection everyone's always talking about. That feeling that John won't shut up about. That…" He looked at her, his eyes raking down her mostly exposed body and immediately reigniting desire that had been sated less than an hour before. "God, I want you again."_

 _He wasn't lying; his erection confirmed it._

" _Sherlock," she said softly. "I should have warned you. You can't approach sex like it's clinical research. It's emotional, even for men. Well, most of the time." That wasn't exactly true in her experience. However,_ some _men could be very emotional, even when they paid for sex. Some even just sat and talked to her. For them, she was a very highly paid therapist._

" _Yes, I see that now, see my mistake." He shook his head. "I very rarely make them, so I couldn't have anticipated this…"_

 _Molly laughed as he released her. He was once again deep in thought, so she continued her hunt for clothing. As she bent to retrieve her skirt from the chair next to the bed, she felt something familiar and hard rubbing against her arse._

" _It's not quite morning yet," he said, his voice was like silk as he gripped her hips._

 _She really should have protested; she had fulfilled all the requirements… however, when she straightened and he slipped his hand into the front of her pants, displaying some of his new-found skills, she simply couldn't resist._

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Irene?" Molly said as she walked into her boss's office.

"Yes, dear. Kate's bringing us tea." Irene stood and motioned to the settee. "Over here, it'll be more comfortable. I have a feeling this is going to be a long conversation."

Molly knew exactly why she'd been called in this afternoon and it wasn't good. "It doesn't have to be a long conversation. I know I shouldn't have given him my real name, but really, he guessed it. I know that sounds crazy…"

"I don't care about that." She waved her hand dismissively, then gave Molly an intense stare and said, "What did you do to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I believe you might have broken the man."

"What are you talking about, Irene?"

"He tried to…" Irene cocked her head to the side and looked away thoughtfully. "Well, I _think_ he tried to buy you off of me."

"WHAT?!" She started to stand, but Irene immediately took her hand.

"Calm down," the woman said with an amused grin. "Or I'll give you a damn sedative."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No. You know I'm not above drugging you…"

"I mean about Sherlock."

"I have to tell you, Molly, I don't think I've ever heard a man sound quite so desperate in my entire career. Keep in mind that I tie up and flog politicians on a regular basis."

Just then Kate rushed in, carrying a tea tray. "You didn't start without me, did you?" she said as she sat the tray on the coffee table. After pouring each of them a cup, she sat back and grinned. "Okay. Go!"

Both women looked at Molly with expectant eyes; it made her _very_ uncomfortable. "We had sex."

The women continued to stare.

"Okay, we had quite a lot of sex," Molly tried, knowing it wouldn't be enough.

Irene laughed. "Dearheart, the man thinks he's in love with you."

Molly groaned and rubbed her temple. "He said that?"

"Well, no, not exactly. But I read between the lines."

Kate spoke up. "I don't understand; what's the problem? He's gorgeous, smart, wealthy, famous..."

" _Famous_?" Molly said. "What are you talking about?"

"Our Molly isn't interested in being _kept_ , Kate," Irene said to her assistant before turning her attention back to Molly. "Far too independent for that, aren't you, love?"

Kate shook her head. "Molly, how do you not know who you serviced last night? He's been in the papers for the last two years!"

"I'm in school full time and I work two part-time jobs. I really don't have time for leisure reading, Katie!"

"And then there's your cat," Kate added snidely.

"Don't bring Toby into this! He's an innocent. He knows nothing of my… evening activities."

"Would you two stop it!" Irene said to her employees. "If you want to fight, I'll put you in Room Seven and _gladly_ watch you go at it, but for now I want to know what happened last night."

"It was _first time thrill_ , that's all," Molly explained casually. Though she wasn't sure if she actually believed it. _It was pretty spectacular._

Kate gasped. "He was a virgin?!"

"I thought I told you," Irene said before taking a sip of tea. "Yes, young Mr. Holmes had never experienced the act of lovemaking before our Molly took him on a trip around the world last night." She giggled; so did Kate.

"Are you two quite finished?"

"Not even close," Irene deadpanned. "He tried to give me his Black American Express to reserve ALL of your future engagements, Molly. Let's face it, love, you turned that boy out!"

Molly buried her face in her hands. "What a mess!"

Irene looked at Kate, then put a reassuring hand on Molly's back. "What happened?"

Looking up, and feeling a bit miserable, Molly started to explain, "After he told me he was a virgin, I decided to make the experience… special. He said he planned to never do it again and…"

A loud snort came from Kate's general vicinity. "I see you changed his mind."

Irene cut her assistant a scathing look then turned back to Molly. "I'm going to insist on details, love."

"Where do I start?"

"The beginning is always a good place," Irene said pointedly.

"Okay…But…"

"You're _actually_ killing us, Molly!" Kate whined.

The woman sighed, then began her story...

" _You're a what?" Molly asked, not really believing her ears. She hadn't even removed her coat yet when her client had dropped his bombshell._

 _The beautiful man huffed and rolled his eyes. "She promised me that you were intelligent."_

" _I'm sorry, it's just…"_

" _Is it really that hard to believe that I've had better things to do with my time than pointlessly spreading my genetic material?" he said, taking a seat._

 _Unbuttoning her coat, Molly processed that sentence. Irene hadn't told her much about this 'William', just that he was incredibly smart and a 'bit' inexperienced._ Well, that's an understatement _. Sitting down on the settee, she turned to him. "You understand that I don't have a problem with it, I was simply... taken aback."_

" _You better not have a problem, considering what I'm paying for your services, Miss…" He made an odd face. She couldn't decide if he was confused or disgusted. "I'm not calling you Isabella. That's not even close." Narrowing his eyes, he studied her._

Is he trying to _guess_ my name? _she wondered._ Great… he's insane! I have to have sex with an insane virgin tonight.

" _You're Catholic. Middle class. One of your parents is Irish."_

 _She somehow managed to hold in her gasp._

" _Mary? No. Beth?" He shook his head. "Collene? No, not Collene, but definitely something... common."_

" _You aren't going to guess it," she said, trying to ignore his insult._

" _No- no. I can get this." He sat forward. "Halle...Holly… Millicent or Milly... " Standing suddenly, he shouted, "_ _ **Molly**_ _! Your name is Molly!"_

 _Gobsmacked, Molly stared at the strange (possibly telepathic) man and completely forgot her number one rule. "How in fuck's name did you do that?"_

" _I'm right? I knew it!" He paced to the mini fridge and got out a couple bottles of water. Walking back and handing one to her, he said, "That was quite fun." with a cocky grin._

 _Shaking off the name faux pas, Molly put the water on the coffee table and stood. "Listen, let's get back to business, shall we? What would you like me to do, William?"_

" _Call me, Sherlock."_

Weird _. But she'd once been asked to call a millionaire real estate developer Captain Hook, so... "Okay, whatever you like."_

" _No, that's my real name. Well, William is too, actually, it's my first name, but I go by Sherlock."_

" _Fine." She was starting to get a headache. "What is it that you want, Sherlock?"_

" _Everything."_

" _Everything?"_

" _Indeed. I don't plan on doing this again, so I'd like the full experience."_

" _You don't plan on…"_

" _Engaging in sexual congress. No. Not after this. Unless I absolutely have to, that is."_

 _Molly sat down once again, trying to process the information he'd just given her and opened her water. She needed to compose herself, this guy was already turning out to be a challenge. Normally, Molly liked a challenge, but this? This was something altogether new._

 _Taking a drink, she considered everything he had said. After a couple of moments, she looked up at him. "You know there's nothing wrong with_ not _wanting to have sex, right?" If this guy was some kind of genius, surely he knew about asexuality? "You don't_ have _to have sex to be normal, Sherlock."_

 _He rolled his eyes again as he sat next to her on the settee. "I'm not asexual, Molly. I choose not to waste my time with the pursuit of a sexual partner because it's pointless. I have no desire to procreate, which is the point of pairing off and mating, is it not? My attitude towards sex has nothing to do with sexual desire. I have a healthy and, quite imaginative, repertoire of fantasies and I use them to masturbate on a regular basis." He shrugged. "I simply have no need to spread my seed and produce any progeny. So why waste valuable time, which could be spent in intellectual pursuits, attempting to locate that elusive one person with whom I might share some rare connection?"_

 _His argument made some sense, to a point…_

" _What about homosexuality?"_

" _I'm not gay. I_ have _watched gay pornography, to test the waters, so to speak. It didn't really interest me. Though some of the positions were inventive, I'll give them that. In this one video…"_

" _NO! I mean, your theory. If the only reason we're on the planet is to procreate, isn't that discounting homosexuality as a whole? Not to mention a bit insulting." She was suddenly invested in his theory._

" _Not really. We've overpopulated the Earth. Evolutionarily speaking, it is advantageous to our species to slow down reproduction, don't you think? Not to mention, gay couples_ can _reproduce, quite easily as a matter of fact. You're a medical student, Molly. Don't be obtuse."_

" _Irene told you…"_

" _No, of course she didn't. She's a professional and would never disclose personal information about her employees. It's quite obvious if you know what to look for."_

 _Once again disturbed by his ability to read her so easily, she tried to get her mind back on track. She never let her clients know anything personal about her and his discovery of her education was disconcerting. "Okay, fine. Can I ask you a question, then?"_

" _If you must."_

" _Why now? If you usually take care of your own needs, why do you suddenly want the experience?"_

" _Masturbation is maintenance. Ejaculation? That's biology; like eating or breathing. My body produces semen and requires release. I can take care of that easily enough. But I am twenty-eight years old and I feel like I should at least know what it feels like to be inside of another person one time in my life. I also will possibly need this information at some point in the future in my chosen career."_

" _Which is..?"_

" _Consulting detective."_

" _That's… not a thing."_

" _It is now." He stood once again. "Now, I was hoping we could start with fellatio, if you don't mind, as I understand it can prolong the act of penetrative sex and I'd like to get my money's worth."_

"Oh my God," Kate said, staring off into the distance. "He's weirder than you said, Irene."

"We don't judge, darling. Just mete out pleasure and pain according to the client's needs," Irene said patronizingly.

"Anyway. He basically asked for... everything and he'd paid for the whole night, so… I gave it to him."

" _You certainly did_ ," Kate said under her breath.

Irene turned to her assistant and said, "If you can't behave I will tie you to that chair, bring Molly my favourite crop and let her teach you some manners. Or worse, I won't let you stay for the rest of the story." Kate seemed more frightened at the prospect of missing the end of the tale than the cropping, though that didn't surprise Molly. Nor did it surprise her when Irene steered the conversation back on track by saying, "If you think that's all you're giving us, you're kidding yourself, Molly," Irene said. "Get to the sex!"

"What happened next?" Kate asked, sounding like a giddy teenager.

"What do you think happened? I went down on him!" Molly snapped.

" _Molly…_ "

"I'm sorry, Irene, but you haven't asked for a play-by-play since my first client."

"I know, dear. I'm just trying to figure out the exact moment when Mr. Holmes lost his brilliant mind." Though she sounded as if she actually cared, the conspiratorial grin contradicted her tone.

 _Molly decided that she was going to have to take control of the evening. The man was clearly used to being in charge and, in this case, she was the expert._

" _Have a seat, Sherlock," she said, dropping her voice a bit lower. "Relax."_

 _He sat back down onto the settee but Molly didn't move toward him immediately. First, she kicked off her heels and untucked her silk blouse. "So, just_ how _much of a virgin are you?"_

 _He looked at her questioningly._

 _She was going to have to be explicit. Good thing she had no problem with that. "Have you ever had a blowjob before? Or a hand-job?"_

" _Oh. No. Never."_

 _She quietly marveled at his self-restraint as she took another drink of water before slowly dropping to her knees._

" _Wouldn't the bed be more comfortable… for you?" he asked._

 _With a quick smile in his direction, she started removing his shoes. "Maybe. But I'd want to do it like this. We'll take things in there later."_ Damn, Louis Vuitton _. Not that she was surprised, the hotel suite must have set him back several hundred pounds. Besides, she was quite used to wealthy men and their excesses; they usually didn't come with such a beautiful face and intriguing personality, however._

 _Once she had his shoes and socks off, she sat up, easing his knees apart. He looked a bit nervous and she admitted to herself that it was completely adorable._ Needs an occupation _, she thought. "Unbutton your shirt for me?"_

 _Once he started to work on his skin-tight oxford (how were the buttons not popping off?), he visibly relaxed, but only a little._ This guy lives inside that massive brain of his. _She had to pull him out._

 _Releasing the catch on the placket of his tailored trousers, Molly kept her eyes on his face. He was still focused on his shirt as she slowly started tugging down his zip. The sound made him move his eyes from his appointed task to her face. She smirked. He looked so innocent- so sweet. It was a strange thing to see in a man his age, especially after their conversation about masturbation and biology and evolution. Though there was an element of fear in his eyes, the overwhelming expression was wonder._

I've almost got you, don't I? _Now, to completely free him from his overused mind. "Rise up for me, love," Molly instructed and he complied, his eyes still trained on hers._

 _Pulling his trousers off and tossing them to the side, she slid her hands up his muscular thighs. That's when she noticed just_ how _tented his pants were and mentally thanked Irene for choosing her for this 'date'._ Those trousers must have been killing him! _Virgin or not, Molly was going to do her best to enjoy herself. She'd certainly suffered enough evenings with unattractive politicians and businessmen whose only 'large assets' were kept safety in their bank vaults, to appreciate a lovely, albeit peculiar, virgin at her disposal._

 _At first she had thought him skinny, but now with his shirt opened and those designer slacks discarded, she could see just how wrong she was. He had the body of a runner, but 'skinny' was not the right word. Lithe, finely muscled, toned, were better descriptors, but really the most appropriate way to describe him was:_ incredibly fucking hot!

 _Keeping her assessment to herself (she could tell that he had quite a high opinion of himself already), she ran a finger along the inside of his silk boxers and returned her attention to his face._ Is he breathing? " _Relax for me, okay?" He nodded and, thankfully, drew a sharp breath._

 _Satisfied that he wouldn't lose consciousness any time soon, she got back to her job. "I'm going to touch you now, Sherlock," she softly said as she reached inside his pants…_

"What the fuck, Molly!?" Kate practically shouted when Molly stopped her story before describing the oral sex.

She shot the redhead a glare. "That's enough of _that_ part of the evening. I'm not here to feed your fantasies! What's your deal today?!"

"I don't know… it's just…" She squirmed, her cheeks actually turning a bit pink. "That was getting hot, okay!"

Irene laughed at Kate's distress then looked at Molly. "All right, dear. So, I assume it didn't take long to get him off."

"No. That was _the_ quickest blow-job I've ever given," Molly explained. "Then…"

Both women leaned forward. _Oh God!_ This was turning into some sort of erotic story-time.

 _Sherlock didn't speak again until she gently pushed him onto the bed and started to remove her clothes. He had been surprisingly quiet as he climaxed in her mouth. Grunting and growling rather than actually forming words._

" _That… that was…"_

" _Yes?" she said as she stepped out of her skirt._

" _Um… not what I expected."_

 _She smiled as she unbuttoned her shirt. "Since you've suddenly misplaced your loquaciousness, I'll take that as a compliment."_

 _He was staring at her, seemingly a bit in awe. "Yes, do," he finally managed as she removed her bra._

 _The giggle that escaped was unavoidable. "Move back on the bed, Sherlock. Get comfortable."_

 _It took him a couple of minutes to comply this time, dumbstruck as he was, but he finally moved to the centre of the bed, his back resting on the headboard. "What now?" he asked, his eyes never leaving her now naked body._

 _She crawled onto the bed and situated herself next to him. "Whatever you like," she said, gently laying her hand on his chest. He was nearly hairless down to the lovely trail of surprisingly ginger hair that led to the thicker thatch of curls that cradled his cock._

 _He looked across the room contemplatively. "There was a moment, or several, or… perhaps it was one long…" Bringing his hands together in a position of prayer, he tucked them just under his chin. "I… my mind stopped. It never stops," he said._

 _Molly could actually relate to his statement. Her mind, whilst working in the lab, for instance, raced; it simply wouldn't rest until she found a solution to whatever puzzle was in front of her. But during sex - good sex, that is - she could shut her mind off and just let her body take over._

" _Sex is good for that," she said, not wanting to disclose anything more personal about herself than he had already figured out._

" _Indeed," he said absently. "I expected the satisfaction of orgasm- of release, but there was… something else."_

" _What was it?"_

 _Turning towards her, he licked his lips, his eyes searching hers, "I want to learn."_

" _And what exactly would you like to learn?"_

" _How to please you," he said huskily._

"Lucky fucking bitch!" Kate said, putting a halt to Molly's tale.

" _Kathryne_!" Irene scolded.

"I'm sorry, but come on?!" Kate stood. "It's like she was given a sexy mound of virgin clay!"

"Sit down! You might just be enjoying this a bit too much," Irene snapped. "We're here to find out what caused the Great Detective's mind to short circuit, not berate poor Molly."

"Thank you, Irene," Molly said, though she was still looking at Kate. "Why are you so invested, anyway? You…" Well, she wasn't about to call her co-worker and sort of friend heartless, but…

"I don't know. It's not his celebrity, I've slept with plenty of famous clients," she said as she sat. "But he just seems so… buttoned up, so…"

"I know what it is," Irene interjected. "There's a thrill about breaking through a wall."

"Was his brother like this?"

"His brother?" Molly asked. "You know his brother?"

"She knows what he likes," Kate said with a giggle.

"Trust me, girls, he was worse than Sherlock. I remember the first time I managed it with Mycroft. Though in fairness it took more than a bit of head to get him there." The fond smile on her face told Molly that Sherlock's brother had a special place in her boss's appointment book.

"We'll find you a nice repressed genius as soon as this escapade is over, dear," she said, patting Kate's knee. "Now, Molly, he wanted to be taught."

" _Okay, but I thought you were never going to attempt this sort of thing again. What use is the knowledge?" she asked as she rolled onto her back, getting into a comfortable position._

 _Sherlock rose up above her, resting his weight on one arm. "Knowledge is always useful, Molly," he explained simply. "Besides, I'd like to return the favour."_

" _That might be a bit advanced for a novice."_

" _I'm a quick study. Tell me what you like."_

" _Just touch me, Sherlock."_

" _But where? What brings you the most pleasure?"_

Well, this is new. _Men usually didn't care all that much about her pleasure, far too focused on their own. And they were generally the ones issuing the orders. Irene had other girls (and herself) for the men who wanted to be used and abused. Molly was a bit more passive in her role. It was fine, for the most part, if a bit unsatisfying at times. But learning the ins and outs of dominating clients would have required a great deal of time._

 _That was something that she simply did not have. Besides working for Irene and attending medical school, Molly also worked as a tutor three days a week. Irene sent her clients that she knew would be more inclined toward Molly's style of seduction. The madame knew how to read people; it was one of her many talents._

" _Start with my breasts. Gently. Just get to know them," she instructed._

 _Slowly, he placed his left hand on her right breast, cupping it as if he were testing it. She moaned instantly. The blowjob had left her wet and a bit achy. It didn't always happen with clients; occasionally, but not often. But she was clearly reacting more to this man that most of her normal customers._

 _Without instruction, Sherlock rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing her to arch upwards. His fingers were long, slender and slightly calloused from some kind of repetitious movement._

" _Good?" he asked._

 _Molly nodded, but pulled his hand up to study it. She simply had to confirm her suspicion. "You play the violin?"_

" _How..?" He swallowed audibly. "Remarkable," he whispered._

 _With a smirk, she said, "Not really, if you know what to look for."_

" _I want to kiss you, is that allowed?" he asked in a slightly desperate voice._

" _This isn't Pretty Woman, Sherlock."_

" _What?"_

" _The American film. I assume you've…"_

" _I don't watch films. May I kiss you, Molly?"_

" _Of course," she answered._

"It's starting to become more clear," Irene said as she poured her second cup of tea.

"What is?" Molly asked.

"I'll let you know once I have more data. How was the kiss?"

Molly sighed as she remembered. "He may have been a virgin, but those lips weren't."

"What does swooning feel like? I think I'm about to swoon," Kate said, a dreamy look on her face.

"My God, girls. It was…" She puffed out a breath. "I'll just say it...It was the best kiss of my life."

"Yep, swooning."

"And did you instruct him, dear?" Irene asked.

"I did. But at some point, he just sort of… figured it all out." She slowly shook her head.

"When did you two start talking again?" her boss asked her.

"How do you know…"

"Because I know the Holmes' mindset. He fell for _you_ , Molly, not the sex. He's a bloody genius, for God's sake, and is well aware that if he wanted to _just have sex_ again, he could get that from anyone. Something else happened, didn't it?"

"It was after the second time." She sat back, wrapping her arms around herself. "I should have left- I did try - but... "

"Go on," Irene encouraged.

"He was holding me afterwards. It was so… intimate, so different."

 _Molly felt him tracing patterns on her bare stomach. At first, she thought it was random, then she recognised letters. After about ten minutes, she realised what he was doing._

" _That's cheating, you know," she said with a smile._

" _What is?"_

" _Using iodine. Just because it looks like a lowercase 'l', doesn't mean it is. You're spelling my name wrong." He had been tracing the abbreviations of molybdenum, iodine and yttrium to spell out her name on her belly._ Silly, genius.

 _Quickly, he flipped her over. "You're fucking perfect," he said before crashing his lips to hers. This kiss was different. Though he had kissed her skillfully whilst they had had sex, this felt desperate and possessive._

 _Molly was powerless to resist him. Her hands came up, fingers tangling in his hair. Suddenly his mouth left hers, only to trail hot kisses across her jaw to her neck._

" _I want you for the whole weekend. The whole week, if I can," he whispered in her ear._

 _For a split second, that thought sounded lovely, spectacular, actually. But then the warning bells started to go off. This man was gorgeous and brilliant and she'd just taught him exactly how to make love to her, and only her. Getting attached could be devastating._

" _Sherlock," she said, lightly pushing against his shoulders. "We… I have to go."_

" _Never," he mumbled into her throat._

" _Yes, actually I…"_

" _Molly," he growled as he leant up, capturing her lips once again._

 _Giving into the kiss at first, she dug her nails into his back until she realised what she was doing. She had to get out of there before she agreed to spend the weekend (or month) in that hotel room with him! She tried to push him away a second time. When he resisted, she used a technique that Irene had taught her the first week of her employment. After allowing the kiss to continue for a few more seconds (not really a hardship), she hooked her right leg around his hip. He clearly thought he'd convinced her to stay and relaxed his hold because when she levered herself up and flipped their positions, he looked gobsmacked._

" _I have to go, Sherlock!" she said forcefully before getting up and hurrying after her clothes._

 _He sat there, stunned for several seconds before moving to stand. "I'm sorry. I… that was unforgivable," he stammered._

" _What?" she asked._

 _He grabbed his pants and slipped them on. "I forced myself on you. It was…"_

" _Sherlock… You didn't. Not really. And for the record, I was tempted to stay." She walked up to him, kissed his cheek and said, "I'm going to freshen up. Get dressed and we'll talk before I leave." Then she turned and went to the bathroom._

 _After a very brief shower, Molly gave herself a few minutes to think about what she would say to the man before re-entering the bedroom. When she did, he wasn't there. Half of her hoped that he had just skived off. The other half wanted to say a proper goodbye._

 _She found him in the adjacent sitting room, sipping on tea and looking only slightly less put together than the night before._

" _I wasn't sure how you took your tea," he said rather awkwardly._

" _I'm fine. I should be going, actually." Sitting down next to him, she said, "I really enjoyed myself, Sherlock."_

" _As did I."_

 _She nodded and took his hand. "You are… a remarkable person, but I have a feeling that you know that already."_

 _That's when she saw it- saw him. Suddenly his cocky intellect couldn't disguise the vulnerability anymore. Though she had seen a similar look in his eyes several other times over the course of their evening, she now recognised it for what it was and damnit… she fell a little deeper at that moment._ I'm in so much trouble.

 _Releasing his hand, she stood. "Take care of yourself and, ahh… bye."_

 _She was almost to the door when she felt his hand on her arm. "Molly?" She turned, unable to speak. "One more kiss?"_

 **No! Bad idea, stupid!** _her brain shouted, but she nodded as he closed the distance and gently pressed his lips to hers. He never deepened the kiss- never pushed his tongue into her mouth. It was sweet and chaste._

 _It was perfect._

 _He pulled away he looked sad for a brief moment, before straightening and saying, "Until we meet again, Molly, the med student."_

 _She was still at a loss for words. So in lieu of speaking, she cupped his face, brushing her thumb along the sharp line of his cheekbone, smiled, then left._

"Holy crap! Do you know how many people would pay to watch this romcom?" Kate said. "I'm thinking Matthew Goode as Sherlock and… Oh, who's that short actress with the cute nose?" she asked Irene.

"Amy Adams?"

"No, the other one."

"Isia Fisher?"

"No! The other one."

"I have no idea! There are hundreds of short actresses with cute noses! And Goode's cheekbones would never do. Maybe Matt Smith, but he lacks the proper eyebrows. Or any eyebrows, actually," Irene said, then got an angry look on her face. "You're distracting us!" She took Molly's hand. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. Really."

"I don't know that I believe you." Molly shrugged. "Listen, Sherlock is basically harmless. He's an odd bird; a genius and awkward as fuck, but it's sort of sweet that he's fallen so hard so fast."

"Irene…"

"After hearing the whole story, I'm starting to see a method to his madness. It's no wonder that he wanted to fill your dance card."

"You're not suggesting…"

"Of course not! I'm not _selling_ you to him," she said with a laugh. "But this isn't a career choice for you, love. This is a means to an end and that end is drawing near. You'll be a doctor soon. Unless you intend to keep ' _dating'_ rich arseholes after you become a full-fledged pathologist?"

Molly shook her head.

"Didn't think so. I actually think you should give it a shot. You two have a lot in common."

"Ahh, no one's asked the important question," Kate added causing the other women to turn to her. "How was the sex?!"

"You just want more details." Irene laughed as she picked up her teacup. "Besides, the answer is fairly obvious," she said with a wink.

"Really? That good?"

"I'm not exaggerating, girls. If that's how he performs on his first try…" She shook her head. "And let's not talk about his second."

Just then the doorbell rang.

Kate stood. "My work is never done," she said as she left the room.

With a lascivious smirk Irene said to Molly, "Wouldn't you like to be there as he hones his skills?"

"He _was_ rather interesting…" _And adorable and intelligent and generous and..._

"Why can't you just admit that you've gone slightly loopy for the man?"

"Because that would be idiotic and one of the first things you told me _NOT_ to do."

"You'll be a doctor in, what, six weeks?" Irene asked.

Molly sighed. "Just about. But that's no guarantee that I'll find a job immediately." Standing, she shook herself. "This is stupid, Irene. People don't start relationships like this!"

Irene got up and stood in front of her. "Why not? Who says they can't? I don't know what'll happen, Molly, but neither do you. I do have a feeling about the two of you, though. Maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic," she said with more than a hint of sarcasm. "Also, as of this minute, I am terminating your employment. I'll cut you a severance cheque before you leave today. Don't worry, you won't go hungry as you wait to be snatched up by one of the best hospitals in London." She turned to exit the room.

As she opened the door, Sherlock was standing in the hall, looking all the world like a lost little boy. "Well, what a surprise!" she said with no sincerity whatsoever. "Look, Molly, Mr. Holmes is here. I'll just leave you to it then." Then she practically swaggered from the room.

 _Oh, that woman!_ Not giving herself enough time to overthink it, she picked up her handbag as she approached the doorway and the man standing just outside it. "It seems that I'm out of a job."

"I got you fired?" he asked, his face slightly contorted in disbelief.

"No, not really. It's a long story and, to be honest, you already know most of it."

"Is there any way I could get you to tell me the rest?"

"Take me to dinner and we'll see."

He held out his arm to her gallantly. Molly had to force herself not to roll her eyes. Instead, she put her hand in the crook of his arm and let him lead her towards the front entrance.

Kate was waiting for them, of course, and she had a stupid grin on her gorgeous face. Molly tried to glare but failed miserably. "Kathryne," she said with a nod.

"You kids have fun." She opened the door.

While Sherlock hailed a cab, Molly wondered what ridiculously posh restaurant he'd try to impress her with. She really wasn't dressed for it in her jeans and jumper. Not to mention she was half starved having only eaten an apple and toast for lunch and wasn't really looking forward to some stuffy, expensive place making her conscious about ordering two of everything.

A cab appeared as if by magic moments later. As he opened the door he said, "Fancy some chips? I know a good place and the owner gives me extra portions."

Her mouth nearly watered at the thought of salty chips and she wondered if they had decent mushy peas. "Why does he do that?" she asked as she sat.

Sherlock followed, a conspiratorial grin on his lips. "I see you don't read John's blog. Doesn't matter, I tell it better anyway. It all started with his cheating business partner, a Latvian lion trainer and a set of faulty shelves…"

* * *

 _Okay! Let me know how I did with_ hooker _!Molly! I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thanks for reading. ~Lil~_


	3. A (Drunken) Night to Remember

klaraneedsanotherseason _asked: Sherlolly, 17 :) meeting up at a party whilst drunk AU - Awesome! Thanks, sweetness! This one's rated **T** for a few bad words, nothing awful._

 _Apologies in advance for any mistakes; no beta this time._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **\- A (Drunken) Night to Remember -**

The room was spinning. Those last two (or four) vodka shots were a really bad idea. Molly tried to look normal and _not at all_ wobbly as she made her way outside, hoping the fresh air would clear her head and hold off the nausea.

Unfortunately, her vision blurred just as she stepped onto the terrace and she ran directly into a brick wall. "Fuckin' wall!" _Wait... brick walls don't wear clothes._ Slowly raising her head, she saw that the wall was actually a tall angry looking man. "Sorry," she said or at least tried too.

"No harm done," the wall, _ah_ , man said.

Molly tried to step around him to find a place to sit down, but he took her by the elbow, halting her process.

"You shouldn't be out here alone, especially blind drunk." He led her to a stone bench and guided her to sit.

"I'm fine."

"You're not, actually. You came with two other females, where are they?" he demanded.

"How'd..?"

"Immaterial. Did they leave? How are you supposed to get home in this condition?"

The wall-man asked a lot of questions. She couldn't really keep up.

"Damnit," he cursed under his breath as he pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket. "John, where are you? You dragged me to this blasted party then disappeared!"

 _Woah!_ Wall-man was pissed at _John_ , Molly felt bad for him. _Poor John..._

"I've found a girl... NO! Not like that you idiot! She's been abandoned and I need to get her home." He paused and looked at her for a second. "NOT LIKE THAT! You know what, forget it! I'll deal with this myself." He put away the device and studied her. "The blonde you came with left twenty minutes after you arrived. I lost track of the other one but she wasn't inside last time I was in there."

"Mkay..."

"Do you know where you live?"

Molly nodded.

"Can you tell me?"

She shook her head. "You might be a killer, wall-man."

He smirked. "Indeed. At least you still have some good sense." He hauled her up by her arm. "You need water and carbs. I know an all-night diner close by that's nice and public. There'll be no wall-man killings tonight. Let's get you sobered up."

Two hours later, Molly sat across from the man (no longer wall-man), sipping water and finishing up her French toast. She felt better, though she knew that she'd be paying for her overindulgence for the next twenty-four hours.

Sherlock, he had given her his name shortly after they'd sat down in the booth (then again after her _first_ plate of food so that she'd remember it), was drinking coffee and watching her closely.

"I'm not going to die of alcohol poisoning now, thank you," she said, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

"Perhaps not." He didn't look like he believed her.

"I wasn't _that_ drunk," she argued.

"You thought I was a wall. Then a wall-man. Then your primary school boyfriend."

She was glad that she hadn't mentioned that, for a moment, she also thought he was the reincarnation of her dead Uncle Calvin.

"You didn't go to that party to drink, why were you there?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"I _was_ drinking. I, however, can hold my liquor unlike you. And I went to support a friend." He looked away. "I've never had one before, I didn't know they were so much work."

"Never had what?"

"A friend," he replied.

She must have looked confused because he went on.

"John, my flatmate, he made me come with him because there was this girl there that he wanted to chat up. I don't see the point of trying to talk to a woman when she's downing Jello shots. If you're really interested in getting to know them, wouldn't you want to do it when they're sober?"

Molly shrugged. She was still stuck on the 'never had a friend before' bit.

"Anyway, I did it. I went there and proved that I care about his interests. He says I'm a selfish wanker." He huffed. "Would a selfish wanker make sure you weren't abducted by some sex-obsessed meat head?"

Molly shook her head.

"Exactly! Would a selfish wanker bring you to a restaurant instead of letting you pass out in an alley to choke on your own vomit?"

She shook her head again.

"See! You get it!" He looked across the room apparently deep in thought for several minutes before he spoke again. " _This_ is why I don't like people, Molly, they make you look at yourself and evaluate your life. I was perfectly fine not caring about those around me until _John sodding Watson_ dropped into my world, telling me that I could be _better_. Saying stupid shit like, 'people make you stronger, Sherlock! Your friends you define you and keep you grounded'." Taking an aggressive drink of his coffee, he continued on his diatribe, "Now, look at me! Sitting across from a pretty girl, eating a meal like a normal bloke! He's ruining me!"

Though much more sober, Molly was still having a hard time keeping up with his rapid-fire speech. She'd caught most of it, but then got hung up on the bit at the end. _Pretty girl?_ Before she could comment, however, he was back to it.

"I wouldn't have even noticed you if it hadn't been for him. The arsehole! He pointed you out the minute you walked through the door. Can't deduce to save his life but somehow he knows my type even though I've never _once_ mentioned my preference for petite, brainy, brunettes. Do you know him?"

She shook her head as she tried to think if she knew someone named John. "I don't believe..."

He waved his hand. "I already knew the answer to that."

"How?"

"Just like I knew by the way you hold your fork that you're a medical student. You go to a different university, however. St. Mary's, I'd say."

"That's spooky."

"No; it's deduction. It doesn't help us with our problem, though. I'll need more information for that."

"What's our problem?"

" _How_ , Molly? How did he do that? How did he know I'd be interested in you out of all the girls at that party?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but he went on...

"It must be his superpower or something," he said dismissively. He was clearly kidding. It had taken the better part of two hours and more breakfast food than she'd ever eaten at one sitting, but she'd started to get accustomed to his biting wit.

"He failed organic chemistry twice but he can spot an attractive, available woman at a hundred yards." He leant forward. "That's what we have to find out, Molly. How did he know I'd be interested in you?"

Molly shook her head.

"I don't know either, but I intend to find out." He looked down at her plate then back to her face. "Are you done?"

"Yes." She'd been finished for fifteen minutes, but he was on a roll and she didn't want to be rude.

"I'll go take care of the cheque and get us a cab."

She started to speak up and offer to pay her half, but he was gone. _What a strange man_ , she thought. _Gorgeous, but strange_. And he seemed to like her, though he also seemed angry about it for some reason. Maybe the night hadn't been a bust after all. If things went well she'd really owe her new friend Mary for dragging her to that party.

Sherlock returned, holding her jacket. "Come along, Molly. We have a mystery to solve." He helped her put it on.

"Really?"

"Actually, _I_ have a mystery to solve. Your job is to be impressed and try not to distract me with your attractiveness."

She smiled and bit her lip.

"Well, don't do that! Lip biting is strictly forbidden!"

"Why?"

He rolled his eyes. "Because it makes me want to kiss you senseless, obviously," he said before storming out of the restaurant.

Molly followed, though she wasn't sure if she should. The man was either unstable or a genius... or both. But she was intrigued, she couldn't deny that. It was the most fun she'd had in ages. Plus, she was sort of invested this 'John' situation if she was being honest.

"Where are we going?" she asked as she sat down next to him in the cab.

He turned and smiled mischievously at her. It made her stomach do a funny little flip. "Would you like to watch me break into my flatmate's room and search through his things. I'll teach you how to look for clues and make deductions. We'll find out loads of embarrassing things about him."

God help her, but that did sound like fun!

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Let me know if you liked this one. More on the way! ~Lil~_


	4. Loose Lips Sail Ships

mychakk asked: 22 Warstan (can it be Sherlolly wedding? But not necessarily) :) Two miserable people meeting at a wedding AU

 _What a challenge! I've never written 'Warstan proper' before. Thankfully, the lovely MizJoley_ _looked over it for me (since she's an amazing Warstan writer). Thanks, Miz! And thank you mychakk_ _for the prompt. This one was fun!_

* * *

 ** _\- Loose Lips Sail Ships -_**

 _How in the name of all things good and holy did Sherlock sodding Holmes beat me to the altar?_ John wondered as he watched his best friend dance with his lovely wife.

Not that he was in some great hurry to get married, exactly. Although... he was six years older than the detective and not getting any younger. The detective who, for the record, had sworn off all things love and sex-related! John could personally attest to the fact that Sherlock did indeed enjoy 'pleasures of the flesh' as the berk had once described, because until the week before he'd slept above the _very_ vocal couple.

Looking down at his empty glass, he mumbled, "I need another drink." then made his way towards the bar. When he got there, he waited patiently while a balding man in his late fifties ordered the most complicated beverage since the Babylonians first fermented honey.

Finally, the man took his pink and purple monstrosity and left, grinning like a fool. John stepped up. "I need something strong," he said. "Preferably a lot of it."

The bartender, a pretty blonde, wasn't paying attention, too busy glaring at the man with the complicated drink. "If you order something with fewer than six cherries, I'll name my firstborn after you," she finally said, turning to face him.

 _Mercy_... She wasn't _pretty_ ; she was _beautiful_. Exquisite. Stunning. " _Gorgeous_..." he mumbled unintentionally.

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

He quickly realised what he had done. "Ah, that was a gorgeously bad drink," he rushed. _Gorgeously bad?_ He shook his head. _It'll have to do._

"I know! I don't get paid enough to experiment nor do I care to. Doesn't he know you order the most expensive liquor at an open bar? That entire drink had a half shot of bottom shelf rum."

John laughed, his mood immediately lifting, but suddenly a look of fear broke out on the bartender's face.

"Shit! I... do you know him? You're in the wedding party, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, but no, I don't have a clue who that was. Probably some distant relative I've yet to meet." He held out his hand. "I'm John, the best man."

The woman shook his hand, brightening slightly. "The best man? That's a funny last name."

John laughed. " _Adorable_." Again, he'd not intended to say it out loud. _What the hell's wrong with me today?_ he wondered. He was way off his game.

But the woman just smiled, then held up a single finger and winked before disappearing through the door next to the bar. A minute later she reappeared holding something behind her back. "This is the really good stuff," she whispered as she poured him a glass of Talisker.

John whistled. "No kidding," he said as he took the glass of whiskey. Everyone was either dancing or eating, so he thought he'd take the time to chat with the woman who'd just handed him a very large, very expensive drink. "Ah, do you work for the venue or the catering company?"

"Neither actually. A friend of mine works for the caterers but he broke his leg and asked me to fill in for him. Luckily, I've tended bar before. Unluckily, I'd forgotten how much I hate it." She looked toward the dancing couples as she finished with, "I'm sort of in between jobs."

John remembered that feeling. Not too long ago he was barely making ends meet. Now he had two jobs (three if you counted part-time Sherlock-sitting). He was just about to ask about her previous employment when he was interrupted by his best friend.

"Ah, John, there you are," Sherlock said. "I might have known I'd find you chatting with the lovely Mary here."

"You two know each other?"

"No. We just met a couple of hours ago but she won my admiration when she told Mycroft to bugger off after referring to her as _the help_."

"I didn't know he was your brother, Sherlock. I just assumed he was some government pencil pusher with a superiority complex."

"And you weren't wrong in that assessment, Mary. Can I get some cool water for Molly? She's not feeling well."

The woman nodded.

"What's wrong with her?" John asked.

"The champagne didn't agree with her and she's a bit light-headed," Sherlock explained.

Mary handed him a glass of water. "No wonder, Sherlock. Pregnant women, especially in the first trimester, are very sensitive to certain tastes. She's probably a bit overheated as well. You should take her outside for some fresh air. Also, some plain crackers wouldn't go amiss."

John was about to admonish Sherlock for not telling him about Molly's pregnancy when he noticed the look on his face.

"Molly's… _pregnant_?" Sherlock whispered. He'd gone white as a sheet and his eyes were suddenly comically large.

Mary's face fell. "Oh my God! I assumed you knew, what with being… well, who you are and all."

"Pregnant?!" the detective said a little louder.

John saw the oncoming freak-out well before it happened, but there was no stopping it. Sherlock turned and dashed toward his new bride, shouting her name as he ran. Molly, who was sitting a few tables away from the bar, talking with Mike Stamford, tried to calm her husband, but he well and truly lost it. He picked her up - actually picked her up!- and carried her out of the building as the entire room watched.

"Bugger! I feel awful," Mary said as the door closed, cutting the couple off from the crowd.

"Not your fault. I don't know how he missed it. He knows… everything," John said, then something occurred to him. "How did you know, by the way?" That was some Sherlock level deducing.

"I'm a nurse and…" She suddenly seemed a bit shy. "... I can read people, a bit."

"Really?"

She nodded. "It came in handy in my former job."

"Which was..?"

"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you," she said with a smirk, though, for some reason John half believed her.

"That almost seems worth it."

Mary laughed. "Maybe."

He really couldn't take it anymore. She was funny and intelligent and beautiful _and_ mysterious. Throwing caution to the wind, he asked, "What are the chances I could get your number?"

"Pretty good, I'd say."

"Yeah?

"What would you do if I gave it to you?" she asked.

 _I'd marry you,_ he thought, or at least he _thought_ he thought, until he saw the surprised and, thankfully, pleased look on the woman's face. "Oh, damn. I did it again, didn't I?"

Biting her lip, Mary nodded. "I'm sure it's just the Talisker," she said, gesturing to the drink in his hand.

He had only taken one sip. Bless her! The woman wasn't only stunning and smart, she was compassionate too. "Are you sure you want to give me your number?" he asked, wondering if he'd just ruined his chances.

"Positive," she replied. "But I promise not to hold you to that proposal."

She lied. They were married six months later.

* * *

 _Review_ me _baby! Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading. ~Lil~_


	5. My, How You've Grown

lilsmolls3 asked: Hello! If you could do #21 for Sherlolly please?! best friends siblings AU -

 _This is a tiny bit on the **M** side, but just barely. Nothing like my normal smutfest but there is some naughty language. Okay, remember this is an AU. Sherlock and John have known each other for many years and they *may* not be in character (but there's a lot of fun to be had!). Thanks so much for the prompt_ lilsmolls3! _Huge thanks to_ MrsMcrieff _for giving it a Brit once over and_ MizJoely _for betaing. Love these ladies. Also, Mr Lil helped with the title because I was tired and about to give it up for a lost cause. Bless!_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **\- My, How You've Grown -**

It had all started with one simple sentence: " _My sister's coming to stay with us next week_."

Sherlock didn't even give his flatmate's words another thought until he woke up at six-thirty one evening (after a grueling double murder that had taken him four days to solve), wrapped himself in a sheet and made his way groggily into the kitchen in search of coffee.

When he heard someone approaching from behind, he assumed it was John but, as his mind slowly woke, deductions involuntarily warned him that the footfalls were too soft- too close together. _John's got another one_ , he thought as he tightened his sheet. Sherlock wasn't aware of a new woman in his flatmate's life, but the doctor tended to work pretty fast. He knew John wouldn't like the fact that he was all but nude, traipsing around in front of his newest conquest, but he frankly didn't care.

"Should take more care where he leaves them," Sherlock mumbled as he put the kettle on.

"I'm sorry?" a female voice said.

Turning, he took in the woman and found that she wasn't at all John's normal fare. She wore no makeup on her face, but instantly Sherlock decided that her delicate, almost elfin features didn't need embellishment. There was a natural beauty about the woman that completely threw the detective off his game. Her eyes were large and bright and they danced with amusement for some reason that he couldn't quite figure out. She was also small- no, _tiny_. Very petite, with long brown hair that nearly touched her waist. Though she was dressed conservatively in jeans and a jumper (an ugly jumper!), he could clearly make out the generous swell of her hips and the perfect handful of breasts that lay beneath that multi-coloured monstrosity she was wearing.

"Sherlock?" she said, interrupting his... well, his ogling.

He forced his eyes back up to her lovely face and said, "Where has John run off to, I wonder?" Internally adding, _leaving me here with this beautiful creature that he'll be finished within less than a fortnight_. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had caused such a reaction in him _. I couldn't have been older than twenty-two... maybe twenty-three._

She folded her arms across her perfect breasts as she leant up against the doorjamb. "Chips. He should be home soon."

The kettle started to boil and the woman took a step forward, smirking deliciously. "Would you like some help with your coffee? I'd hate for you to lose your... toga." Her eyes twinkled as she bit her lip. "Well, that's not completely true, is it?"

That's when he remembered his attire. _Damn._ He stepped toward the hallway, wanting nothing more than to put on some bloody clothes!

"You still take two sugars?" she called out, causing him to pause and turn back to her.

The realisation hit him like an actual ton of bricks. " _Molly_?"

"You were clearly expecting some else. I see my brother hasn't given up his womanizing ways."

That explained the awful jumper; evidently poor taste in clothing was a genetic trait. "Molly Hooper?"

"Yes, Sherlock. Molly Hooper," she said with a laugh as she finished his coffee.

He looked her up once again, committing her image and name to his mind palace. "You've... _changed_."

She handed him the mug. "I was fourteen the last time you saw me, I sincerely _hope_ I've changed." He suddenly noticed the dimple in cheek that was much more prevalent when she smiled. "Enjoy your coffee, Sherlock," she said before returning to the sitting room.

* * *

Once in his bedroom, his mind went into overdrive as he remembered his conversation with John the week prior. " _My sister's coming to stay with us next week_." But there was more, wasn't there?

He searched his 'unimportant John prattle' file and found several other short conversations as he drank his coffee.

" _Molly's got interviews at St. Mary's and Charing Cross. She'll be staying for at least two weeks, maybe more_."

" _My baby sister finished medical school almost two years quicker than I did. Isn't that something_?" Not really. John was book smart, but not genius.

" _You're going to be nice to Molls and not deduce her. She's gonna be nervous enough about the job interviews without you running off at the mouth._ "

John had also mentioned her specialty, but for the life of him, Sherlock couldn't remember. _Pediatric oncology? Podiatry? Proctology?_ No, it was no use. He'd have to ask.

Twenty minutes later, he was clothed and much more calm. He'd completely forgotten that John's sister was coming to stay and apparently since he'd last seen her she'd turned into a beautiful, charming young woman. She was actually his half-sister. John's mother had married Molly's father after her first husband had died and they'd had Molly… four years later? _Okay, so how old does that make…_

 **BANG! BANG! BANG!** "Sherlock! I'm coming in!" John shouted seconds before entering the room. "You walked around in front of my baby sister in a fucking sheet?!"

"To my defense, I assumed she was one of your conquests and…"

"I don't care, you fuckwad!"

"Really, John, I think you're overreacting."

The doctor closed in on his friend, not stopping until he was less than two inches from Sherlock's face. "Listen to me, you bloody wanker, while she's here you will be on your _best_ behaviour. Are we clear?"

Reluctantly, Sherlock nodded.

"No deducing, no wall shooting and keep your bloody clothes on, for fuck's sake! She's a good girl. Sweet and pure and she doesn't need you flirting with her and confusing the hell out of her!" With that, the shorter man stormed out of the room. "She's not a case, she's my sister!" he shouted over his shoulder.

A memory of he and John hunting down a boyfriend of Molly's something like ten years prior and 'gently encouraging' the boy to keep his hands to himself suddenly came to Sherlock's mind.

When Sherlock stepped into the hallway he heard the siblings arguing.

"... canceling it, Molls. Mary will understand!" he said as he paced.

"Are you serious?" the young woman spit back. "I'm twenty-four years old and hopefully will be living on my own in London in a few months! I don't need a babysitter. I wasn't offended by Sherlock _or_ his sheet. I thought it was funny! If you can't trust me alone with your flatmate, it's going to be a long three weeks, _Hamish_!"

" _Molly…_ "

"Go on you sodding date, John. I'm sure the big scary detective won't hurt me before you get back!"

He heard her storm up the stairs and John's bedroom door slam shut.

"So, Mary?" he asked as he walked into the room. "Where'd you meet this one?"

John turned toward him and glared. "I'll be back before eleven. Don't make me hurt you!"

"If you think I'm such a threat to her, why did you invite her to come stay with us? Evidently, you think I'm some kind of monster that can't be trusted with your sister."

The other man huffed and dipped his head. "Sorry. You're right. I don't think you're… a monster. But she's young, Sherlock, and impressionable and naive. Just… be nice. Okay?"

"Of course, John. I'll be an absolute gentleman."

His words seemed to appease John and he picked up his keys and wallet, leaving without another word.

An hour later, Sherlock was deeply absorbed in an experiment, though really, he was trying to get his mind off the pretty girl just above his head when he heard it again: soft footsteps coming toward him. He'd somehow missed her descent down the stairs.

"So what's all this?" Molly asked as she sat down at the kitchen table.

"Experiment," he answered, not taking his eyes off of the mixture in front of him. Using a microtip dropper, he added a drop of green food coloring to the top of a silica gel.

After a few moments of blessed silence, she said, "Oh, you're separating synthetic dyes and natural pigments."

Slowly, he turned and looked at the woman next to him. "Pathology!" he said, finally remembering what John had told him about her field of study.

She smiled. "Yes. I assumed you knew. John has a tendency to brag."

"He did. I forgot."

"Ahh, I see. Not important enough for the mind palace?"

"How do you know..?"

"You don't remember telling me all about it during that awful family reunion?" She looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, "You called your brain your 'hard drive' and said you only kept valuable information. I thought you were high."

"No. Not high. I did dabble in drugs for a while at uni, but found them too distracting."

"Like sex?"

"Pardon?"

"You also told me - a fourteen year old, by the way - that you had decided to ignore your need for… oh yes, _pointless hormonal gratification_ in order to focus solely on honing the art of deduction." She seemed far too amused. "See why I thought you were high?"

"You remember our entire conversation?"

She stood and said, "Perhaps my hard drive is larger than yours," with a wink as she left the room.

 _Bloody fucking hell… I'm in trouble._

He decided then and there to keep a healthy distance between himself and the lovely young pathologist. John did keep a gun in the flat, for goodness sake.

* * *

Keeping his distance was far easier said than done; she was everywhere! For the first week, Sherlock took every case he could get his hands on, no matter how small or unworthy, to keep his mind (and eyes) off of his flatmate's sister. But it was no use; they still saw each other, frequently.

Eight days after she had arrived John came into the sitting room, hands on his hips, and said, "I have to go Birmingham for a week."

John was a locum; he'd been very lucky that most of the clinics he'd been assigned were within the London area. It seemed his luck just ended. So had Sherlock's.

 _Perfect timing,_ Sherlock thought ruefully.

"Okay," Molly said.

He sat down next to his sister. "But both of your interviews are this week. I wanted to be here…"

"It's fine, Johnny! I'll call you and tell you all about them."

John smiled at the young woman then turned his focus on Sherlock. "You will _not_ make her nervous or distract her in any way. You will not _ruin_ this for her. Understand?"

Sherlock had discovered something about his best friend in the last few days: no matter how loyal he was to Sherlock, no matter how much he cared - and he _did_ care, had always cared and always been there for him - nothing was more important than the woman on the settee. _Nothing_. He had no doubt that if he stepped one foot out of line, John would prove just how much he loved his little sister. Even if that meant causing bodily harm to his best friend of over ten years.

"I wouldn't dream of it, John," Sherlock responded, glancing up at the doctor for a split second before returning his attention back to the computer on his lap. "Besides, I'm sure I'll be too busy to give Miss Hooper any trouble."

"You've found a case?" John asked.

"Not yet, but I'm sure I will."

John stood. "I have to pack. I'm leaving first thing in the morning."

After he'd left the room, Molly said, "He's always been like this, you know?"

"Hmmm."

"Ridiculously overprotective."

"Apparently."

She got up and walked towards his chair. "I mean, what sort of trouble does he expect us to get into?"

Looking up, Sherlock realised just how close she was. "No idea."

Molly sat down on the arm of his chair. _What the bloody…_

"Maybe he's just afraid of leaving two scientists alone with all your expensive equipment."

"Perhaps," he replied.

"You're especially verbose this evening," she teased. "Something bothering you, Sherlock?"

 _Yes! A beautiful, untouchable woman in my personal space is bothering me!_ "No. Why would there be?"

"Ohh!" Suddenly her face lit up. "Can you get a hold of some human tissue samples?"

 _Does John own fifty ugly jumpers?_ "Possibly."

Jumping up she said, "This is gonna be so much fun!"

 _The woman of my dreams is prancing around in shorts and a singlet, talking about testing tissue samples, and I'm not allowed to confess my undying love. A pox on you, John Hamish Watson, for bringing this damnable creature into my life._

"Yes, fun," he said, trying his best to sound bored.

* * *

Sherlock never found a case. He did, however, talk Mike Stamford into 'loaning' him some tissue samples, and he and Molly set up their own version of a Mad Scientist's Lair in John's absence. To say it was excruciatingly painful was a gross understatement. Oh, he enjoyed every moment of their time together, but every moment also reminded him that what he ultimately wanted was something he could never actually have.

Molly was unlike any woman he'd ever met. Though incredibly bright, she was far from arrogant in her intelligence. Always eager to learn, she dove head first into their little experiments, making suggestions and asking questions. Even though she had slightly more education than Sherlock, she seemed to want to defer to the Graduate Chemist from time to time. When he questioned her about it once, she simply explained that he had more practical experience and that she'd be a fool not to try to learn from him. She did stipulate, however, that there were areas in which she was more knowledgeable. She was not at all put off by his shortness or blatant need to show-off. As a matter of fact, if he got too out of hand, Molly would just roll her eyes or smirk. Sometimes she'd make a snide comment. Never once, however, did she let him get away with pushing her away.

Simply put, she was… magnificent.

Her interviews took place on Tuesday and Wednesday of the week John was in Birmingham. Sherlock not only followed his flatmate's advice (warning!) but he went out of his way to make sure she was relaxed and confident prior to each meeting.

Both mornings he made her favourite tea and had it waiting along with a bit of fruit and whatever he could pilfer from Mrs. Hudson's kitchen when she emerged from the bathroom wearing elegant skirts and blouses, her long hair pulled up high and styled in some sort of twist. She looked even more delicious when dressed in professional suits. Subtle makeup on her delicate face and a slightly nervous smile on her lips made Sherlock want to grab her and shove her up against the nearest wall and show her that she had nothing to worry about. She was both brilliant and beautiful.

There was no way she wasn't going to have the panels of interviewers eating out of her hands.

John phoned on Friday saying he was going to have to stay longer; at the time he wasn't sure exactly how long. Molly was disappointed, but mostly distracted, waiting to hear back from her interviews.

Tuesday evening, Sherlock came back home after finishing a case to find the woman sat on the sofa, sobbing into a cushion.

 _Bugger…_ "Molly?"

She didn't answer. He removed his suit jacket and sat next to her. After saying her name again and still getting no response, he placed his hand on her back. Her head jerked up. A tight feeling of constriction stretched through his chest after seeing the look on her face. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks streaked with tears.

"What happened?" he asked, although he'd already deduced the problem.

"I didn't get… either job," she answered in a low, rough voice.

 _What sort of idiots do these hospitals employ?_ Sherlock quickly got up and retrieved a box of tissues, then returned to her side.

After cleaning her face, she said, "It's fine, I suppose. I have a job offer in Bristol. At least I'm not _completely_ unemployable."

 _Bristol!?_ he thought. _Bristol doesn't deserve this woman!_ And it was so bloody far away. No, that would never do!

"Molly, you need a drink," he said, his mind already formulating a plan (one that involved making a phone call out of her earshot).

"I really don't feel like going out, Sherlock. And I look like shit on a stick."

Untrue, of course, but nevertheless. "I'll go out myself acquire some alcohol. Give me fifteen minutes."

Molly nodded and buried her head back into the cushion.

As soon as his feet hit the pavement, he pulled up the contacts on his mobile. "Mycroft," he said when his brother answered the call. "I need a favour…"

True to his word, just as he knew he would be, Sherlock was back in 221B in less than a quarter of an hour. "Here," he said as he handed Molly a glass of the whiskey he'd just procured. "This should calm your nerves."

She took the glass, giving him the tiniest smile in return. "You're too good to me, you know?"

He didn't respond, instead poured his own drink and considered what he'd just done. To say that he'd sold his soul to the devil would be an understatement. However, three trips to the theater district with his parents was a small price to pay to make Molly Hooper happy. He _did_ cringe at the thought of what exactly 'and whatever else I deem necessary to repay the debt' meant in _Mycroft speak_. Probably assisting with one of his boring government cases. It didn't matter; the deed was done.

The pair sat in the lounge and drank and talked and drank some more. Molly's mood did improve, as did Sherlock's. Soon he forgot about his overbearing big brother and musicals and could only focus on the beguiling brunette to his right. Molly's hands started to wander the more she drank. Not that either of them was drunk, per se, but they were both feeling quite light and carefree after about an hour.

Thirty minutes after that, she was leaning on him with her left arm draped over his shoulder, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and causing all sorts of indecent thoughts to flutter through his mind.

As he started to pour his fourth glass of whiskey, Molly reached out and stopped him. "I don't think we should have anymore, Sherlock," she said, her speech only slightly slurred.

He put down the glass and bottle. "And why is that?"

She smirked, moving to sit up on her knees. "I'd rather take advantage of my brother's absence in more… pleasant ways." Reaching out with both hands, she cupped his cheeks. "And since I'm in that sweet spot of 'just drunk enough to do something I wouldn't normally do, but not so drunk that I won't remember', I'm going to kiss you now."

Warning bells were ringing in Sherlock's head. He wasn't supposed to be doing this but his foggy mind couldn't remember why, exactly. His brother? _No, not Mycroft... Oh! John! Molly just mentioned…_

Suddenly Molly's lips were on his, soft and warm, tasting of whiskey and sweetness that he could only attribute to her own unique flavour, and he stopped caring about warning bells and brothers. He gripped her hips, pulling her closer as he felt her tongue teasing the seam of his lips. She kissed him slowly, almost sweetly, as if she were drinking from his heart. He distantly wondered if it was the drink that had turned him into a sappy romantic or if it was the woman in his arms. Not that he really cared, especially once her tongue was completely inside his mouth, moving quick and clever against his.

Nudging him back, she lay on top of him, gripping his hair and turning his head to suit her needs. Her small body was so hot against his as he bucked up, thrusting his erection into her midsection without a thought of how improper it was, how they were moving far too fast, especially considering how much they had had to drink.

Molly moved her lips to his neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin just under his ear. "God, Sherlock, I want you," she moaned.

And though it indeed fueled his fire, it also brought him back to the reality of the situation. This was John's little sister. She was off limits and, more importantly, he genuinely cared for the woman. She wasn't some drunken conquest.

He was going to have to lie to her- tell her that he was drunk and not thinking straight. Formulating a plan in his mind, he quickly decided to make his apologies for allowing things to go so far and explain that it wasn't her fault. She was upset and drunk, even knowing that it wasn't the whole truth. They were clearly attracted to each other and if the situation were different… Well, that didn't matter, because a relationship was simply not possible.

After enjoying her attention for minutes longer than he should, he gently cupped her head, pulling her away from him until he could see her face. " _Molly…_ "

"Don't say it, please." The hurt was already evident in her eyes.

In that moment he found that he simply couldn't follow through with his plan. He didn't just care for this woman… he realised just then that he could - maybe already did - love her. "Not like this," he said. "Our first time shouldn't be like this."

She looked shocked but not displeased in the slightest.

"Though I know we're not completely inebriated, I'd much rather we both be absolutely of sound mind when we make love for the first time," he explained, hoping she understood because it was important… to him.

Ducking her head and kissed his chest. When had she unbuttoned his oxford? "You're right." Sitting up, she straightened her tee shirt. "I honestly thought you were rejecting me."

Sherlock followed, slipping his arm around her back. "Never."

"Good. I really thought that John had scared you off or that you still saw me as a silly child." She bit her lip.

"Hardly," he said, only partially lying. She was no child, though he wasn't sure how he was going to handle the 'John situation'.

"Can I ask you for something?"

"Of course."

"Will you sleep with me tonight? I'll be leaving next week and even though you're right, we shouldn't have sex after drinking so much, I'd like…"

"Here, on the couch," he answered, feeling like he'd be less tempted, for some reason, if they were in the front room.

Molly nodded and Sherlock got up to remove his shoes and retrieve a blanket.

When he returned, she asked, "Aren't you going to change clothes?"

"No. I'll sleep like this." He was still wearing his tailored dress trousers and oxford.

"Doesn't seem very comfortable."

"It's for the best," he said with a smirk.

As they lay down on the sofa, Molly nestled in the crook of Sherlock's arm, she turned and kissed him again. "I really wish I had gotten one of those jobs," she said as she broke the kiss. "London not only has better hospitals, but it has you." She tucked her head against his chest and wrapped her arm around his stomach.

Sherlock smiled. She'd be staying, even if she didn't know it yet. Now… how to handle his soon to be angry best friend?

* * *

Waking up, Sherlock realised a few things very quickly. Firstly, they must have gotten warm at some point, because the blanket was lying on the floor. Secondly, his sofa wasn't meant to sleep two grown adults. In the night, Molly had moved until she was basically lying on top of him. Next, he noticed that his right hand was inside her pajama pants, cupping her bottom. _Lovely_ , he thought with a smirk. Unfortunately, he also realised at that moment that they were being watched. _Fuck_!

He looked across the room and found an angry John Watson sitting, elbows on his knees, staring daggers at the occupants of the sofa.

"John," Sherlock said as he slowly removed his hand. "You're back early."

"No shit, Sherlock." He stood and walked closer to the cuddling couple. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" His voice was a low dangerous whisper.

"Sleeping?"

" **WITH MY SISTER**!?" he screamed, causing Molly to jerk awake.

"Sweet Mother of God, John. What's with the shouting?" she said as she pushed up off of Sherlock's chest. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Molly Marie Hooper! Get your arse up right now, young lady!" he directed at the woman.

"Are you insane?" she asked angrily.

John started pacing. "I forbid this…this... _whatever_ this is! I forbid it!" Turning back to the sofa. "Do you understand me?"

Molly sat up, followed by Sherlock, both staring at the raging doctor in front of them.

"This is beyond the pale, Sherlock! How could you?!"

"How could he what?" Molly asked as she stood. She was obviously mad and spoiling for a fight with her brother. Not that Sherlock could blame her, John was overreacting… a bit. "What exactly did Sherlock do, oh clairvoyant one?"

Hands on his hips, John squared on the younger woman. "He clearly took advantage of you, Molly! You're just a kid. You have no idea…"

"You're an idiot!" she yelled. "He didn't take advantage of me!" She moved closer until the siblings were less than two feet apart.

"I'm not blind!" He gestured to the bottle and glasses on the table. "Did he get you drunk before he screwed you?!"

 _ **SMACK!**_

The force with which the small woman struck her brother told Sherlock everything he needed to know about whether or not one should cross Molly Hooper.

Silence echoed in the flat for what felt like an hour, but was more like two minutes. Finally, she said, "I didn't get either job. Thanks for asking." Her voice low but steady. "I was upset. Sherlock was kind and comforting. Yes, we had a few drinks…"

Sherlock held his breath, waiting for the next part of the tale.

"I didn't want to sleep alone, so I asked him to stay with me. Nothing untoward happened, I can assure you." And then she stunned them both with, "Even though _I_ certainly wanted it to."

 _What?_

John's eyes bugged and his face turned an interesting shade of red, almost matching Molly's handprint on his cheek. "What are you saying?" he growled.

"You heard me, John. Would you like me to spell it out?"

Sherlock gaped. She was protecting him, refusing to disclose anything incriminating about him. _Yep… I'm in love_. Even more impressive, as upset and offended as she was, she was behaving calmly and rationally (except for the slapping, of course).

In her brother's silence, she evidently decided to elaborate. "I practically threw myself at your best friend and even though it would have been easy to do, he refused to take advantage of me. When he turned me down he was neither cruel or cutting. Quite the contrary. He was gentle and reassuring, clearly understanding the fragile nature of my emotions. I've been here for two weeks and it seems that I know him better than you do, John. You need to think about that," she finished, then stormed up the stairs.

At that moment Sherlock wondered if Molly was lying at all. He feared that, perhaps, her recollection of their evening was entirely different than his own. If so, he had no idea how to handle the situation. _Maybe it's for the best_ , he thought sadly. Men like Sherlock Holmes didn't end up with women like Molly Hooper.

John refused to meet his eyes. Instead, he stared out the window for several minutes before he turned and left the flat, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Two hours later Sherlock was showered and a bit more refreshed. He was still confused about Molly however, not sure whether or not she had remembered the evening prior correctly. If she _had_ remembered, was she trying to protect him from John's wrath? It wouldn't be out of character as far as he could tell. Molly seemed as steadfast as her brother. John was (usually) unfailingly loyal to him (little sisters notwithstanding). Maybe it was a familial trait. If she hadn't - if her recall was somehow skewed by the alcohol and she _didn't_ remember his reciprocal responses to her kisses - well, then, he had decided to leave things alone.

Leave _her_ alone.

"It's for the best," he said out loud to the empty flat as he picked up his laptop and pulled up his website, hoping to find a case to occupy his time. He had barely left the flat over the last week in favour of spending time with Molly.

That thought, of course, led him to memories of their time together. It may have only been a week, but it somehow felt much longer. The experiments, yes, had been informative and sometimes thrilling, but there were other moments too. Quiet mornings over coffee and tea, respectively, as they read the paper and chatted about… nothing really. There had been long, drawn-out discussions about famous murders, unsolved cases and forensic methods that left him both frustrated and exhilarated in equal measure. She never gave up when she knew she was right, sometimes running off in the middle of a conversation to find a book or pulling up an article to prove her point. The more fired-up she got about a subject, the more in awe Sherlock was of the tiny woman.

Overall, spending so much unfettered time with her had only fueled his desire and strengthened his feelings for her. What had started out as sexual attraction (basically at first sight) had morphed into genuine admiration for a brilliant mind and respect for her strength of character.

Letting her go would be difficult, to say the least, but all in all his friendship with John was more important. Not to mention, he was never going to be good enough for someone like her. Hopefully she had no memory of their shared kisses. If that were the case, he'd lock the whole experience into a room in his mind palace and forget that it ever happened.

Not ten minutes later the woman herself came barreling down the stairs. Stopping a few feet away from his chair, she asked, "What have you done?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I just got a call from someone in the HR department at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. I've got an interview tomorrow at ten am. Now tell me: what have you done?"

He couldn't tell if she was pleased or livid. The day had been far too emotionally draining and he frankly didn't have it in him to deduce a thing. Too tired to play games- to lie or pretend -the detective decided to simply tell the truth and let the cards fall where they may.

"I called in a favour," he said, returning his attention to his computer.

"Meaning?"

He sighed as he moved his laptop to the table next to him. Looking up, he studied her but was still unable to decipher her mood. "My brother holds a minor position in the government. I asked him if he could arrange an interview for you. I'm sure I overstepped, Molly, but those idiots at St. Mary's and…" He paused, trying to remember the name of the other hospital.

"Charing Cross."

"Yes, Charing Cross, they made a mistake. You would be wasted in Bristol. Talent like yours is much better put to use here in London and…" He was running out of steam. The truth was he just didn't want her to leave. Two weeks of Molly Hooper simply wasn't enough. Ducking his head, he ran his fingers through his hair.

All his internal talk of what was best for everyone involved couldn't override the fact that he wanted her. He wanted her to stay… in London… in his life… in his damn arms.

"Sherlock?" she said, causing him to look up. He'd have to face the repercussions of his heavy-handedness at some point.

"Yes?"

* * *

John Watson felt like the world's biggest tool. After leaving the flat he had walked directly to his favourite pub. Three pints later he realised how just how badly he had misjudged his best friend. Of course he hadn't tried to take advantage of Molly; this was Sherlock Holmes for Christ's sake! The man didn't care about women and 'getting a leg over'. All he cared about was science and deduction and solving bloody puzzles, not pretty girls and sex!

As he made his way back to Baker Street, he resolved to do anything in his power to fix things between himself and his best friend. And also his little sister. She was obviously offended, not to mention hurt by his accusations. _What was I thinking?_ he wondered as he unlocked the front door. He had always been overprotective, but that's what big brothers did… right?

 _Wrong_ , he thought as he ascended the stairs. _They don't accuse their little sisters of getting drunk and shagging their best friends!_ He stopped on the landing and considered what he would say to the two most important people in his life, both of whom he'd managed to alienate in a matter of ten minutes.

 _I'll apologise - beg if I have to - and make sure they understand that I do trust them… both. I'll also try again to get Molly an interview at St. Barts._ Last time he had asked Mike about pathology positions, there weren't any available. Maybe...

* * *

Sherlock lay on top of Molly, grinding his erection into her denim covered centre as he kissed the swell of her breasts. They both had lost their tops at some point after she had jumped on him, thanking him profusely for getting her the interview.

"Oh, God!" she moaned. "I haven't had a drop of alcohol today, Sherlock, you better _not_ stop this time." She tugged at his curls, pulling his mouth back up to hers.

He kissed her fiercely, lapping at her tongue as he made room between them to reach for the button and zip on her jeans. As he ended the kiss, he nipped along her jaw then whispered in her ear, "The sitting room floor isn't exactly romantic, love."

"Fuck! I don't care," she said, proving her point by cupping him through his trousers.

After emitting a long, loud groan, he had to admit that she was right. "The floor it is." He leant up, just about to tug off her jeans when he heard the door of the flat open and a startled gasp that could only belong to his flatmate. _Not again…_ Sherlock grabbed his shirt, which was closest, covering Molly's exposed chest.

" **OH MY GOD!** " John exclaimed.

Sitting up next to the woman he intended to spend the rest of his life with, all Sherlock could think to say was, "Hello, John. Did you have a nice walk?"

* * *

 _Thanks for reading. Let me know how I did! ~Lil~_


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